At the beginning of the year I got my trusty camera from the dusty depths of my closet and decided to fire it up. I don’t remember what the impetus was for this, just that I wanted to start taking photos again.
I took photos like mad when the boys were little. I loved shots of them when they weren’t looking or especially from behind with all three of them. My favorites are of them playing in the sand at the outer banks beaches.
Sometimes, they would pose for something fun, like the one below:
But somewhere along the line, they started running from the camera. Or making goofy faces. I tried to sneak up on them, but they developed some sort of weird camera radar, and always knew when I was coming. Christmas photos became a nightmare. So, I put the camera away.
Bugs was the first to come back. But then I started hearing things like, “How come you always take his picture?”
“Because you run away, or make faces when I point it at you,” I would counter. Roo was the worst. I started saying, “Don’t come complaining to me when you see the number of photos of you. You have to be willing.”
The photo bug was sparked again when I went to Scotland two years ago. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed it. After that, it’s use was intermittent at best. Then DH and I went to Honduras in February, and the fuse was ignited fully once again. Most of those were macro, so I became really interested in macro shots. What better subject to do macro shots then of flowers? So, I started shooting flowers.
I was in Heaven. What a fantastic way to temporarily forget any woes, relax or escape from anxiety, if only for an hour or two. I found it indescribably peaceful. The men however, didn’t understand. I carry my camera everywhere. Sometimes I get weird looks when people see me. Sometimes I get funny smiles. This morning DH said, “I’m not understanding this obsession,” or something along those lines.
I smiled. And found I didn’t need anyone to understand.